Carl Stevens' Journal: The DeflateGate Poem
I know about hunger, I know about crime,
I know bad things happen about all the time.
But one black mark stands above them all:
Who let the air, let the air out of the ball?
This sad, impoverished pigskin nation
Is filled with righteous indignation.
Will somebody stand up, stand up tall and tell us?
Who let the air, let the air out of the ball?
John Wilkes Booth shot Abraham Lincoln.
The stench of Watergate is still stinkin'.
We got a real mystery. Better call Saul.
Who let the air, let the air out of the ball?
Has the limb of morality been amputated?
Has the queen of justice been sedated?
You think this is silly? You're wrong, that's all.
Who let the air, let the air out of the ball?
Samson lost his hair. Ezra Pound lost his mind.
Sometimes truth is hard to find.
But the truth is somewhere in the football mall.
Who let the air, let the air out of the ball?
For this criminal grass, we need a lawn mower.
We need a referee whistleblower.
Someone who'll rise and show us all
Who let the air, let the air out of the ball.
The game's integrity must be reserved.
The thrill of concussions must be preserved.
Lily white blood on the turf in the fall.
Who let the air, let the air out of the ball?
A soft pigskin's no way to play.
We've got to find the truth, find the truth today
Before the cheating virus infects us all.
Who let the air, let the air out of the ball?
Who let the air, let the air out of the ball?
Listen to Carl's poem:
